Hell's Angel
by Sierra Nichole
Summary: Daryl is sick, but he's not going to let something like that keep him from finding Carol's little girl.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Hell's Angel

Author: Sierra

Rated: M for Violence & Language, and a little Drug Use

Disclaimer: I don't own ANYTHING :(

Summary: Daryl gets sick. But he's not going to let a thing like that stop him from finding a lost, little girl. Takes place between "Cherokee Rose" and "Chupacabra".

A/N: First TWD fanfic! Reviews are gold :) If you guys like what you've read, then I will do my best to update asap . . . if you don't like it, don't be afraid to let me know, I like to improve.

Oh, and I got the title idea from Daryl's _awesome _vest. It's kind of corny, but fits him, I think.

xxx

Carol looked up at the sound of a ragged cough that interrupted the silence, her maternal instincts already crying out to the person, despite the fact that she didn't even know who it was; when her eyes fell on Daryl, doubled over next to a tree, her heart constricted in her chest so much it was nearly painful. Without thinking, she rose from her spot near the fire and hurried over to him, unsurprised when he jerked away from her touch.

"Are you okay?" she asked, softly.

"Fine," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood up straight. "Quit your fussin' and go on back." He jerked his head toward the fire, and the rest of the crew.

"You should come, too," Carol said, "it's cold tonight." And she was telling the truth; a breeze, gentle but cold, swept over the land and brought goosebumps to the bare flesh on her arms. She rubbed them briskly. "Sounds like you might be comin' down with something."

Daryl shook his head. "Naw, just a cough." He cleared his throat and walked away, just barely brushing her shoulder with his as he passed; she watched him make his way back to his tent, but he seemed steady enough, so maybe he was right. Maybe she was worrying over nothing. Trying to content herself with that thought, she walked back to the group, who sat in silence, watching her as she sat down again, warming herself at the fire.

"What?" she asked, finally, her voice neutral.

"What was that about?"

It was Dale who asked, of course it was Dale.

"I was worried," Carol answered, honestly, "sounds like he's comin' down with something. I would've checked on any one of y'all, too."

Andrea smiled. "Of course," she said, leaning over to pat the older woman's knee fondly. "But you know, it's okay to admit you like him." She winked playfully. "Even under all that dirt, he _is _an eyeful."

Carol blushed. "Well, of _course _I like him," she said, standing up again. "I like all of you. And Daryl's done so much . . . " she cut off abruptly, a familiar lump forming in her throat. "For Sophia," she finished, forcing her voice to remain steady. "He's gonna be the one to find her."

They looked at her with sad eyes, grim faces, and she fought down the tears that threatened to fill her eyes; Lori was the only one who found her voice, and bless her, she even sounded like she meant it. "I'm sure he will be," she said, a fake smile on her face. "Maybe even tomorrow."

Carol nodded, blinking quickly. "I'm goin' to bed now . . . g'night."

"Goodnight, Carol" echoed around the group as she walked toward the RV, finally allowing a solitary tear to escape from her eye and roll down her cheek. She went by Daryl's tent, determined to keep going without a second thought, until she heard the softest of moans from inside, and found her feet no longer moving. She weighed her options in her head, trying to think of his reaction if she actually poked into his tent, and knowing full well he wouldn't be pleased. But he sounded horrible in there, all alone, coughing again and then groaning in pain once the fit ended.

Inside the tent, Daryl was on his hands and knees, coughing so hard he thought he might hack up a lung; he collapsed backward once the fit finally ended, allowing a low grown to escape his lips. When he heard the footsteps outside the tent, soft against the grass but there nonetheless; he tried to stifle another bout of coughing, but failed. As he spat into the dirt, he hoped Carol wouldn't come inside, as he was sure it was her that hovered outside his tent . . . he could see her face in his mind, pinched with worry, blue eyes wide, voice gentle and comforting.

Not that he needed any comforting.

He listened intently as the footsteps began again, and Carol passed by without coming inside, to his relief. He took in a deep breath, wheezing uncomfortably, and lay down on the ground, pulling a thin blanket up to his shoulders and trying to still the shivers that were wracking his body. Christ, it was _freezing_. It shouldn't be so cold in Georgia this time of year, it wasn't even October yet.

If he could just get some _sleep. _That would fix it. He'd be well in the morning, Daryl was never sick for very long, and then he could get back out there, find Sophia, and they'd leave the farm. Herschel and his family gave him the creeps, and he wasn't so sure they were as safe as everyone else seemed to believe anyway; no, they needed to move on, if they were going to settle down they'd do it on their own, not on Herschel's terms.

But not until he found the little girl.

He clenched his fists around the blanket, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to force sleep to take him; his throat began to tickle then, and soon enough he was rolling over, gasping painfully. He gagged, but not much came up from his empty stomach, and the action just made his head throb even more. Exhausted, he fell onto his back with a sigh, feeling every bit as miserable as he looked, all covered in sweat and dirt, a little spit on the corner of his mouth. He reached out blindly above his head 'til his found found the ziploc bag containing Merle's remaining stash, and the few joints that were still rolled and tucked safely inside; he grabbed one, lit up, and inhaled deeply.

He coughed again, but just once, and soon his mind grew foggy and his eyes began to droop; he smiled a little, taking a few more drags before putting out the joint, and finally going to sleep.

xxx

Carol hummed to herself as she folded the laundry, trying to find some kind of simple pleasure in the act; it was a bright day, though cold, so she had shouldered on her heavy cardigan before leaving the RV after a night of little sleep. She swatted absently as a fly buzzed around her face, landing briefly in her buzzed hair before flying away; she wished for a hot shower, some good soap, something to wipe away all the grime and sweat.

Movement caught her eye and she snapped her attention to Daryl's tent as the flap was swung open. He climbed out, slower than usual, his hair seemed wet and stuck to his forehead, his skin was unnaturally pale; Carol gave him what she hoped was a sincere smile, gesturing to the lawn chair set up just a couple feet away. "Get some breakfast," she urged.

Daryl nodded as he swung his crossbow onto his back, grunting when it hit him a little too hard; he strode over and Carol began to fill a plate with what little breakfast she'd managed to cook up. Some squirrel from the day before, mashed potatoes, a little juice. Better than nothing.

"I think there are some rolls inside," she said, handing the plate to Daryl as he sat down. "I could go in and take a look."

"Don't bother," Daryl replied, the words harsher than the soft voice he spoke them with. "Not that hungry." He rubbed his eyes quickly, blinked, then began to pick at the food.

Carol hesitated, then returned to her laundry, still watching even as she folded one of Carl's shirts. "Where are you gonna look today?" she asked.

"Haven't finished searchin' the creekbed," Daryl mumbled, still chewing. "Couple miles left to cover, at least."

"You think she's by the water?" Carol tossed Carl's shirt aside, picking up another.

"Gotta drink." Daryl swallowed, grimacing. "Then I thought I'd drop in on that old house again, maybe she's gone back there." He looked up, his eyes catching hers. "Someone her size was stayin' there, wasn't no grown man."

Carol pressed her lips together and nodded, clenching her hands into fists around the soft cotton of Rick's shirts. "You know," she said, her voice quiet, "I just can't thank you enough for this."

Daryl flushed, set his plate down, and rose from the chair. "Ain't no big deal," he said, wiping his hands on the front of his pants. "Rick's too busy with Carl and Shane's laid up with that ankle, someone's gotta be out there lookin'." He tried to cover a sudden yawn by sweeping his hand across his face, then grunted and coughed, his other hand coming up to massage his chest.

"Maybe you should take the day off," Carol suggested, mildly. "Get some rest."

Daryl looked at her like she had two heads, his blue eyes stark against the dirty, tanned skin surrounding them. "Everyday she's out there the less chance we got to find her." He shook his head. "Ain't got that kind of time to waste. 'Sides, I'm fine anyway."

"At least take someone with you," Carol said, "maybe Glenn?"

Daryl scoffed. "Anyone else'll just slow me down," he insisted, "I'll be back 'fore it's dark. Probably bring Sophia with me, too." He took a long swig of his canteen, smacking his lips when he finished. "Now quit your worryin'." With that, he gave the smallest of smirks, then took off toward to the woods, his long legs carrying him swiftly and steadily across the field.

She finished the rest of the laundry and tried to convince herself that she was worrying over nothing, that a cough wasn't the end of the world; still, any sickness could turn into something serious given their situation. And that wasn't just her maternal instincts crying out, that was just common sense.

_Daryl's been taking care of himself for a long time . . . he didn't have you to look after him before, he doesn't need you now. _

Despite its best efforts, Carol's internal voice did little to ease her fears as she again looked toward the trees; Daryl was nowhere to be seen though, so she lowered her head and went about finishing the laundry.


	2. Chapter 2

xxx

"Sophia!"

Daryl leaned against a tree as the words left his lips, surprised when he found himself out of breath and panting. Beads of sweat had long ago formed on his brow and were no beginning to run down his face, but that wasn't so surprising, given that the Georgia sun had risen and the sweltering heat had made a triumphant return. It was probably only ten or so in the morning, not even the hottest part of the day; wouldn't be so bad if it hadn't been so goddamn cold earlier, he figured, going from one extreme to the other was never good.

He took a deep breath, calling for the girl again and searching the creekbed with his keen eyes; there were the usual signs of life in the forest, fish in the water, squirrels and other little creatures running around, birds chirping. The world hadn't ended for them, it had probably even gotten a little better. Daryl growled, running his hand across his dirt-streaked face, discouraged at the lack of any sign of Sophia . . . again.

The thought of going back to camp and facing Carol, disappointing her again, was just about the hardest thing he could imagine. She was looking to him, _only _him (since everyone had so many other things they thought were more important), to find her little girl; he was going to bring her back, safe and sound, give her back to her mama, and finally see what Carol's face looked like when it was lit up with a smile.

Now where the hell did _that _come from?

Daryl shook his head, bewildered by his own thoughts and disgusted at the same time; as if he had the time for foolish daydreaming when he was out in the middle of the woods, by himself save for maybe a Walker or two out there, looking to _eat _him. He needed to stay focused. Why that was so difficult, he couldn't figure, though he supposed maybe it had something to do with the throbbing behind his eyes that hadn't let up since he first opened them hours before.

"Fuck . . . " he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught of pain, giving in for a moment, knowing there was no one around to see. Carol was right, he _was _sick, and damn if he didn't have just perfect timing! He opened his eyes again, glancing around quickly to make sure nothing had come upon him while he wasn't looking, and then it caught his eye . . .

A doll. _Sophia's _doll. Abandoned, lying half in the water at the bottom of the hill he was standing on; his heart started hammering in his chest as he tried to find a safe way down the incline, slipping and sliding, almost falling completely, before finally managing to land on the river rocks. He stumbled, regained his footing, and made his way over to the doll, snatching it up as quickly as if it were Sophia herself.

"Sophia!" he called, a twinge of desperation in his voice.

She was twelve years old, alone and terrified, she would hold onto that doll like a lifeline; he didn't know much about young girls, but even he could figure that out. If she dropped it, that meant . . . _Don't mean shit, _he thought angrily, _maybe she just tripped and it fell down here. Or she had to run off and dropped it._

"Sophia!" he tried again, looking around anxiously.

There was a rustling in the bushes across the river, but he sensed right away that it was _not _Sophia; he reached for his crossbow, felt the hot metal beneath his hands, and gripped it expertly, prepared for whatever appeared. Sure enough, a Walker staggered out from behind the bush, grotesque in sight and smell; grunting with the exertion of bringing the crossbow up, Daryl took aim and fired. The bolt struck the Walker through the forehead and it fell face-first into the dirt, landing just a couple steps away from Daryl; he kicked the Walker lightly, nudging its shoulder with his boot. As expected, the creature didn't make a move.

Sighing, Daryl tucked the doll into his waistband and slung his crossbow over his back, before bending down to grip his bolt and rip it from the Walker's head; took a little more effort, it seemed, as he placed his foot against the head and pulled. The bolt hesitated, then came loose without warning, causing him to stumble back a step . . . the world around him swam and his vision blurred, and he blinked quickly trying to clear it up. Leaning over, he put his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths, trying to push aside the pain in his head and the heat radiating from his skin. His heart pounded unsteadily, his ears were blocked from the amount of blood rushing to his head as he leaned over further, and he never heard the second Walker coming from the bushes.

Not until its disfigured hands latched onto his shoulders, knocking him off-balance, and sending them both falling onto the rocks. Daryl's face hit a rock, splitting his lip open and knocking a tooth loose; he growled, struggling to roll onto his back, but the Walker straddling him was strong, and fighting hard. It snarled, snapping rotten teeth and lunging toward the back of his neck; he managed to roll out from under the Walker just in time, barely avoiding a bite from the teeth that scraped along his collarbone.

The Walker bellowed even louder, its bony fingers digging into his arms as they pinned him down even further; Daryl whimpered, fear bubbling up to near panic, the fever raging inside him only intensifying it. He kicked uselessly, struggled in vain to raise his arms, then finally gave in and brought his head up, swiftly butting the Walker in the forehead.

It definitely hurt _him _more than the undead bastard.

Blood began to pour from the gash in his hairline now, and Daryl cursed himself as it only agitated the Walker further; it had managed to force the creature off him just enough for him to slide away though, and he scrambled further back, crawling on his hands and knees. He felt a hand grab his ankle, begin to climb up his pants, then he felt the darkness creeping up on him, a black void swimming on the edges of his eyesight.

"No!" he cried out, fighting it as hard as he'd ever fought before. Panting, heaving, he grasped a rock and swung it around, connecting with the Walker's head; he bared his teeth in a sick smile at the cracking sound, and the way the Walker slumped over.

Daryl brought the rock down on the Walker's face until there was nothing but broken bones and brain matter left, and then he collapsed onto the rocks, coughing and wheezing violently. He gagged, choked, tried to vomit but nothing came up, until finally he was too exhausted to even breathe; he lay down, shutting his eyes, trying to block out the glaring sun and the agonizing pain.

Jesus Christ, he was so _fucked_.

Pain was coming from his shoulder, small but noticeable, so he cracked open an eye to take a peek; a thin pink line, only a couple inches, ran along his tanned skin. It wasn't bleeding, the Walker's teeth had only irritated, not broken the skin; the blood in his face was fucking annoying though, hot and sticky, salty. He reached up to feel the wound, winced at the pain, then sat up slowly; a wave of dizziness, and with it nausea, assaulted him then, and he fell to his side, heaving again.

Before his eyes slid closed, he thought he saw a little girl's face peering out at him from the bushes, eyes wide and terrified, red hair stringy . . . he tried to reach for her, croaked out her name, and then passed out.

xxx

Carol glanced out the kitchen window as she busied herself slicing potatoes, preparing dinner for Herschel's family and the group; Patricia and Lori scurried about, setting the table, checking the chicken cooking in the oven. Lori commented how nice it was to be doing something "normal", Patricia agreed, and Carol kept to herself. The others had lost cherished lives when . . . whatever this was, started; she had never made a family dinner, sat down to enjoy it with her husband and child. This was just as out of the ordinary to her as dead people walking around.

Outside, Carl was giggling, and she felt a pang, a longing for her little girl; the thought of Sophia still alone out there was growing harder and harder to bear, and to believe. With each passing hour it became more certain to her that she would never see Sophia again . . . the thought made her choke on a sob that suddenly rose from her throat, and she caught Lori's concerned gaze that flicked toward her.

"Fine," she said, without being asked, giving a small smile.

"Chicken looks good," Patricia announced, bending over the oven, oblivious to the other women.

Beth walked in then, and Carol took the opportunity to surrender the potatoes to the young girl; she quietly excused herself and went outside, suddenly feeling entirely too hot and cramped in the kitchen. It was mid-afternoon, the sun was still hot but there was a whiff of air, and she gratefully breathed it in; then her blood ran cold, Andrea's voice from atop the RV warning the camp:

"Walker! Walker!"

Carol clutched the railing on the porch, squinting and struggling to see what the others were now running toward; it looked like a man, covered in blood, dragging something behind his staggering frame.

Dragging something? Since when did Walkers carry anything around?

Icy fear coursed through Carol's veins, and before she knew it, she was running across the field, her legs moving as fast as possible; she cried out, her voice shaking as she saw Andrea level her rifle, taking aim. "Don't shoot!" It felt like a scream, but nobody seemed to hear her, so maybe it was just a frantic whisper; a second later, a gunshot cracked over the farm, and she watched in horror as the figure fell backward.

"No!"

They were hauling Daryl to his feet by the time Carol got there, he coughed and groaned, would have fallen again if not for Shane and Rick's arms around him; but he was alive, Carol laughed and cried, covering her mouth with her hand as they half-dragged him by. "Is he hit?" Carol worried aloud, and Glenn nodded.

"Not bad," he assured her, just grazed his shoulder.

Just as Carol began to shoot up a thankful prayer, the doll tucked into his pants caught her eye . . .

"Daryl!" she gasped, hurrying over, gently but urgently cupping his face with her hand; she somehow managed to find her voice long enough to utter one word: "Sophia?"

Daryl tried to nod, grimaced instead. "I saw her . . . " he muttered, "I think. Found 'er doll by the creek 'fore I ran into . . . " his voice trailed off then, as if he didn't want her to hear the rest.

"What happened to you?" Carol brought her other hand up to his cheek now, ignoring the way he pulled from her. "Oh my god, you're burnin' up."

"Is he bit?" Shane demanded, loosening his grip on Daryl so he could step back and take another look.

"No." Daryl scowled. "I ain't _bit . . ._ " he moaned, shaking Rick's grip. "I'm fuckin' tired. Just let me sleep, an' I'll be fine in the mornin'." He stumbled with his first step, but before Rick could, Carol grabbed his arm. "Let me," she said, softly.

Daryl shot a look back at Shane, then Rick, but nodded just a little and almost leaned into her touch as they began making their way back to camp; his skin was hot, but he was shivering beneath Carol's touch. It felt like it took an hour before they finally made it to his tent and he stumbled inside, Carol hesitated, but followed him after a moment; neither spoke while he lay down in the dirt, sighing heavily, his eyelids already closing.

Carol bit her lip, chewing on it nervously as he knelt beside him and began untying his boots; blue eyes peered at her through the tiny slits that were now his eyes, but he still didn't speak, not even as she pulled his boot off and tossed them aside. Her tiny hands worked quickly, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a chest that was criss-crossed with scars she pretended not to notice; he helped her to remove the shirt, rising onto his elbows, his jaw set tightly, eyes now wide and suspicious.

"What're you doin'?" he mumbled.

"You were just shot," Carol reminded him, her fingers ghosting the gouge that ran across his upper arm. "Can't let it get infected . . . probably already is, with this fever you've got." She looked around, grabbed the cleanest rag she could see, and began to tenderly wipe the blood away. "What happened to you?" she asked again, eyeing his head and the angry gash.

"Ran into some Walkers . . . "

"You saw Sophia?"

"Thought so," he murmured, easing himself back down. "Guess I could've just . . . been seein' things." A beat of silence, and then: "You don't gotta do this, I can clean myself up just fine."

"I'm sure," Carol replied, "but I want to."

She worked in quiet for the next few minutes, cleaning the path of the bullet as well as she could, and then his head; all the while, she watched him fight to keep his eyes open, finally losing the battle just as she finished placing a makeshift bandage on his head. Just before his breathing evened out and sleep overtook him, she heard him murmur:

"I'm gonna find your lil' girl tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews/story alerts/favorites, I really appreciate it! Hope you like the new chapter :)**

xxx

Daryl's eyes fluttered open slowly, the world around him taking shape bit by bit, in fuzzy patches dancing across his vision; the pale blue cloth of his tent surrounded him, behind it the sky was beginning to lighten, the sun having just barely risen. He shivered bringing his hands up to rub his arms, hissing in pain when he was too rough over the wound on his shoulder. _Fuckin' Andrea._ A deep-rooted cough erupted from his lungs, rendering him helpless 'til it passed a moment later; clenching his jaw, he sat up carefully, his muscles screaming at him to just _lie back down_ . . . but the hard ground wasn't as inviting as a warm bed anyway.

A soft moan snapped his attention to the side, and he found Carol curled up across the tent from him, her legs pulled up to her chest, arms hugging her sides; she was shaking just, her face was tense, lined with fear and worry. Daryl swallowed hard, annoyed with himself for feeling so bad for her . . . woman was damn near a stranger, they'd hardly spoken three words to each other. Why should it matter to him?

He glanced down at his arm, then felt his head, the bandages so neatly wrapped around each injury; there was a blanket draped across his legs, a bottle of water near where he rested his hand on the ground. The previous night was a fuzzy memory, but he vaguely recalled Carol's light touch, soothing voice; she had cared for him like no one ever had before, even in the midst of all she was going through.

And he remembered his promise. _I'm gonna find your lil' girl._

Biting his lip so hard he nearly broke skin, Daryl forced himself to stand, growling when his legs swayed under him and he tripped over his own goddamn feet. His head felt okay when he was laying down, but now it was back to whirling all over the place, and that bastard with the sledgehammer was pounding away again. He shut his eyes, pinched his nose, tried to breathe slowly and steady himself; he could _not _puss out, there was only so much time left to find Sophia alive, and he was wasting it standing in his tent feeling sorry and sick.

"Daryl . . . ?"

He opened his eyes and found Carol staring at him, wide-eyed and confused; she sat up, then slowly got to her feet. "You're not going out, are you?" she asked, her sleepy voice taking on a breathless quality.

"'Course I am," he replied.

"You were _shot _yesterday!" Carol protested.

"It's just a flesh wound." Daryl shrugged, silently cursing himself when that hurt so much and he couldn't quite hide the flinch that involuntarily crossed his face. Ignoring it, and hoping she did too, he leaned over and grabbed his crossbow, then unzipped the tent, taking a step outside; Carol was right behind him, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her thinning frame.

"Daryl, no."

"I'll be fine." Daryl took a sip from his canteen, then staggered as another coughing fit took hold; he bent over, spat some water into the ground.

"You can barely stand!"

"I said I'm _fine!" _Daryl snarled, recovering and continuing on his way.

"You're just gonna get hurt worse- "

"You want your daughter back or not?" Daryl snapped, stopping and turning on her; his face was flushed red, chest heaving slightly. They stayed in place, staring each other down, neither one willing to move until finally, Carol spoke again, softer: "We don't know if we're gonna find her, Daryl . . . _I _don't know." His face twisted into a grimace, blue eyes squinting with confusion. "I can't lose you too," Carol murmured, her gaze dropping as tears filled her eyes.

This was just too much. Daryl gestured helplessly at the woman standing before him, licked his dry lips, tried to find something useful to say. Maybe if he could _think straight _something would come to him, but it was all he could do to just stay on his feet and not lay on the ground and go back to sleep.

"Yeah, well . . . " he stammered, then quickly turned and walked away. His face was aflame, whether it was from embarrassment or the fever burning inside him, he didn't know . . . didn't really care; he swiped a hand across his rough skin, flicked away the sweat, and went to the stables, picking out a dark-colored mare that watched him with wide, nervous eyes. He considered going to Herschel and asking to take a horse, but scoffed at the notion after just a second, he didn't ask for _permission . . . _besides, he'd bring the horse back before nightfall and make sure she was fed and groomed.

His vision blurred when he swung his leg over the horse's back, and he clutched the horn of the saddle so hard his knuckles turned white; his stomach rolled dangerously, threatening to bring up what little food and water remained inside. "Shit!" he gasped, reaching out blindly for his canteen. He took a sip, spit it all back up, then took another.

And with that, he nudged the horse with his heels, and they started off.

He didn't know long he was riding, only glancing up occasionally to look at the sun's position; the scenery didn't really change all that much, trees and more trees, dirt, rocks, some wildlife. That was all right, as far as he was concerned, he was more comfortable out in unfamiliar woods than he was playing house on someone else's farm.

Another search of the creekbed proved to be fruitless, other than allowing him the opportunity to refill his canteen and take a couple minutes to rest before climbing back into the saddle and continuing on. A feeling of hopelessness was slowly beginning to overwhelm him; his eyes were sharp, but there was simply no trail to follow. Somehow, the forest had swallowed Sophia and left no evidence behind, nothing to indicate that a little girl had ever wandered away.

Daryl grit his teeth, ground them together. She was dead. Torn apart by some filthy Walkers, probably not long after Rick had left her in the river; no body left behind for him to find, for her mother to bury. The little girl he saw yesterday was just a hallucination, something his mind made up because he wanted it so badly.

Fucking pathetic.

A branch snapped behind him. He brought the horse to a halt and twisted around to see a Walker a couple yards back, milky eyes intent on him, a leg that was badly mangled causing the creature to limp wildly toward him. Daryl took a breath and brought his crossbow up, aiming just a second before letting the bolt fly; the Walker dropped, limp, only to be replaced by another, coming out from behind a thick tree. It appeared to have once been a teenage girl, hip hugging jeans and some trendy T-shirt; she probably had pretty brunette hair that would've been shining in the sunlight, but now it was so dark it was almost black. Lifeless. Daryl slid from the saddle and pulled out his knife, gripping it firmly as he brought down on top of the Walker's head, finishing it.

Something growled, too close to his ear, and Daryl couldn't help the startled cry as he whirled around to face it. Where the hell were they all coming from? he had a moment to think as he stumbled backward, away from the 300-lb. mechanic barreling down on him. The Walker grabbed his arms, sharp fingernails scraping his skin as they both fell to the ground; Daryl switched grip on the knife and shoved it up, through the chin. The air whooshed from his lungs as the Walker's whole weight came down on his chest, and he struggled briefly to wiggle his way out from under it. Then . . .

_Oh, shit._

He emptied his stomach into the leaves, the pain in his head returning full-force; too much action, moving fast, and his whole body rebelled against it. He gagged and choked, shuddered, down on his hands and knees; if another Walker was close by, then fuck 'em, he just might stay there and let them have at it. He really wasn't sure he had much of a choice, at this point.

A scream pierced the air. A long, high-pitched noise that could have only come from a young girl, and suddenly Daryl was on his feet, looking around desperately. "Sophia!" he yelled, or tried to. He coughed, cleared his throat, and attempted it again; this time his voice rang out loud and clear, but there was no answer. _More visions, _he thought to himself. _You're going crazy._

But then she screamed again. Daryl's legs were running, carrying him over fallen tree branches and around deep holes, faster than he would've thought possible; he kept calling her name, over and over, his voice shaking and cracking pitifully. His thighs ached, his lungs burned, but he kept running, until suddenly . . .

There she was.

For one stunned moment, all he could do was stare at the shivering girl in front of him, her stringy red hair framing a thin, pale face; she was huddled in a cave, shaking like a leaf, tears running down her face. And her blue eyes stared at him with a strange mixture of adoration, fear, and relief. Daryl wanted to run to her and grab her in his arms, but hell, did the girl even know his name?

"M-Mr. Dixon?" she stammered, uncertainly.

_Guess so. _"It's okay, Sophia," he said, keeping his voice soft as he approached her like he would a wild animal. She'd been through hell, who knew how strong her grip on reality was at the moment. "You hurt?" he asked.

Sophia shook her head, whimpering. "No . . . "

Tough girl. She was covered in scratches (and if any of them were from Walkers . . . ) and had one hell of a nasty gash on her left kneecap; but she "wasn't hurt". Daryl smirked. "You ready to go back to your mama now?"

The tears came like a waterfall, and the sobs tore at him as Sophia buried her face in his chest, as comfortable as if he were her own father; awkwardly, he placed his hand on her back and rubbed it gently, at a loss but feeling like that was right. She cried even harder and he pulled his hand away. "It's okay," he murmured, "okay . . . "

A low growl sounded from above them, and Daryl pulled her closer as he looked up; a Walker glowered at them, standing on top of the cave, blood and saliva dribbling from its decaying chin. "Shit," Daryl muttered, and Sophia ducked back into the cave as he took the crossbow from his back. The Walker tried to take a step, slipped on the mud and rocks, and tumbled down on top of him before he had the chance to shoot; a strangled cry of pain came from Daryl's lips when his back hit a sharp rock on the ground, but he didn't have a second to dwell on that. The Walker hissed and snapped its teeth into his face, inches away, he pushed hard, his arms trembling with exertion, the Walkers fingers digging into his biceps so hard he thought they might go right through his skin.

Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl saw Sophia watching with a panic-stricken expression on her face; she seemed frozen, paralyzed, but then suddenly, she was running toward him and before he could even tell her to stay back, she was kicking the Walker off him. It turned on her when it landed on the ground, reaching with broken fingers; Daryl heaved in a deep breath and sat up, drawing his knife, then stabbed the Walker under the chin. It fell, and he followed, only just barely managing to catch himself before face-planting in the dirt.

Sophia's tiny hands were on his arm in a flash, she was kneeling next to him and he glanced up at her, chuckling in spite of it all; Carol's concern face was echoed in her daughter's, the same eyes, the same mouth hanging open just a little. "What's wrong?" Sophia asked, "are you sick?"

"Seems like it . . . " he sat back on his heels, panting. Just a few minutes to catch his breath, that was all, then he'd bring Sophia home, and go to bed.

"You feel really hot." Sophia's hand on his arm moved up and down, then dropped.

"Don't worry," Daryl said, disgusted by the sound of his own weak voice. "I'll get ya' back. Got a horse . . . " he pointed with his whole hand, in the direcion he'd come running from. "As long as she ain't run off. We'll be . . . back 'fore it's even dark." He took in another gulp of air, grimacing as his lungs strained, and coughing on the exhale. "C'mon," he wheezed, propping himself up on one knee, "better get goin'."

Sophia grabbed his arm again, doing her best to help him stand, but black spots were clouding his vision and there was only so much she could do, so he soon he found himself back on the ground. His fingers clawed at the mud beneath them, his chest fought for air as he hacked violently, trying _so hard _to keep his eyes open and at least some level of unconsciousness. He was vaguely aware of Sophia talking, but her voice was drowned out by the sounds of his own coughing and gagging, then the blood rushing to his ears as he fell to his belly, too weak to support himself any longer.

_No, no, no, no . . . no! _His thoughts were racing, trying to force his body to do something it was refusing to; finally, he managed to get his eyes open, and found himself staring into Sophia's face. She was crying, her eyes red and puffy, lips trembling around the fingers that was nervously chewing on; Daryl set his jaw, planted his hands, and forced himself back up. He hadn't come _this _far just to let her down now! _Maybe I'll drop dead when we get back, but as long as we get there . . . I don't give a damn._

He breathed in and out a couple times, testing his lungs, then nodded to Sophia and they very slowly got him to his feet; her hands were icy cold, he reflected, and wished he had a coat or something to give her. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and let her lean into him, her face nuzzling against his stomach as more tears fell. "Don't be scared," he breathed, "not gonna let nothin' hurt you."

She gripped his shirt while they made their way through the forest, pausing ever so often so Daryl could catch his breath; he would bend over slightly, gasping, and she would stand still as a statue, watching him with that sad, terrified look. He knew what she was thinking . . . he was gonna die out here, and she would be all alone again, after coming so close to being saved. _Like hell! _Then he would shake it off, and continue on, slowly but surely.

"So . . . " he started, "how'd you manage to do so well out here by yourself?" He looked down at the girl walking beside him, again took in her haggard appearance; muddy clothes, wet shoes.

"I just kept running . . . " Sophia replied, quietly. "I-I know Rick told me to stay. But then there was . . . and I got scared." She sniffled, wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "I should've just stayed."

"No use thinkin' that now." Daryl pressed his lips together and rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the throbbing pain. "Found ya'. You're gonna . . . be all right."

"Mama's okay?"

"She's fine. Been worried 'bout you."

" . . . I'm sorry."

"Wasn't your fault," Daryl insisted, stumbling over a branch but managing to catch himself on a tree. He looked around, spotted the two Walkers he'd killed earlier, the horse tracks left behind from his ride in . . . but no horse. "Goddamnit!" he snapped, fighting the urge to bury his fist in the tree.

"What's wrong?"

"Horse is gone." Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. "We're gonna have to hoof it."

" . . . will you be okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

He shot up a prayer to a God he didn't really think existed (it couldn't hurt, right?), and then Daryl pushed away from the tree and started walking again. After a few steps, Sophia's fingers found their way around his, clutching firmly, and he wasn't sure who was drawing strength from who anymore . . . but it didn't really matter.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Oooohhh, cliffhangers :)**

xxx

The horse returned to the farm in late afternoon, galloping at break-neck speed, eyes wild with fire; her back leg was seeping blood from two, tiny puncture wounds, and sweat ran down her dull brown hair. Maggie spoke to her in soothing tones while Herschel examined the leg, then fled into the house when he grabbed his shotgun; she hid in the kitchen, her hands over her ears, unable to block out the noise. She was fifteen when her father bought her Nellie . . . "Nervous" Nellie. In the grande scheme of things, she supposed losing a beloved pet seemed minor, but she sobbed just as harder as she had the day she lost her stepmother.

Herschel was walking slowly away from the stables when Rick hurried over to meet him. "That's the horse Daryl took," he said.

"I figured." Herschel adjusted the gun in his hand, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Snakebite. Hours old, there was nothing I could do."

Rick sighed, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through his hair. "Maybe she threw Daryl when the snake bit," he suggested.

"It's possible," Herschel agreed, coming to stop at the porch and placing one foot on a step. "There is a lot of dangerous ground out there. Hidden cliffs, rivers . . . "

"He could be hurt," Carol spoke up, from where she stood on the porch, clutching a dish towel in her hands. "We have to find him."

"It'll be dark soon," Rick pointed out, "and none of us are that good in the woods. Best wait 'til morning."

Carol was silent for a moment, her gaze darkening. "That's what you said about Sophia," she said, her voice low. "Four _days _ago! If we'd just found her that first day, she'd be fine. What are the chances of that now!"

"Carol . . . " Rick reached out to her.

"Don't touch me!" Carol snapped, jerking away from him. "My little girl is gone, because of _you. _And now you're just gonna leave Daryl out there, too!" She threw the towel down. "Give me a gun. I'll go out there myself."

"No, you won't."

"You don't tell me what to do!"

"Carol, listen to me." Rick came onto the porch with her, his hands falling on her shoulders. "We'll find Daryl, I _promise_. But if we go out there now, we could lose more people . . . and Daryl knows better'n anyone how to take care of himself." He paused, cracking a small, hopeful smile. "He'll probably show up in another hour or two . . . all pissed off at the horse for leavin' him."

Carol tried to meet Rick's eyes, to be strong, but she found hot tears welling up in spite of herself; unable to say another word, she brushed by him and hurried away, her gut clenching painfully. Something was wrong, she knew it. Her hands shook uncontrollably as they opened the RV door and she went inside, she sat down at the table, staring hopelessly toward the woods. Images of Sophia flashed in her mind . . . alone and scared, hungry, hurt. Then her beautiful face, so changed, gray and dead, almost unrecognizable. She shuddered, bringing her fist up to her mouth to stop the sob that ripped from her throat. The images of Sophia faded, only to replaced by Daryl . . . laying in the dirt, his head bleeding, face flushed with fever. And a Walker, unseen by him, slowly reaching . . .

xxx

"Mr. Dixon?"

"Christ, kid. Just call me Daryl."

"Daryl . . . it's gonna be dark soon. Isn't it?"

Daryl grunted, too focused on staying upright to actually answer her; Sophia glanced at him, searching his tired face for answers. She stepped around a fallen tree branch, her tiny feet crunching on the sticks and leaves beneath them. "Are we gonna make it back before then?" she asked.

"Yeah." Daryl winced, rubbing his chest. "Not too much further."

"How can you tell?" Sophia looked around, confused; it was all the same to her, trees and rocks, a little sunlight filtering through the leaves but fading quickly. It was getting colder, too. She rubbed her arms, trying to make the goosebumps disappear; the nighttime was always the worst, the scariest.

Daryl gestured to the ground. "Just gotta track . . . the prints," he answered, mildly. "The horse left 'em on my way in this mornin'."

Sophia squinted. "I don't see anything."

"You just don't know how to look."

"Maybe . . . " Sophia chewed on her lip, flinching as it cracked under the pressure. "Maybe you could teach me sometime? When we get back." Her stomach growled. How long had it been since she'd eaten anyway? "That way, if I ever get lost again. I'd find my way back."

"You kiddin' me?" Daryl smirked. "Girl, your mama ain't never lettin' you out of her sight once we get back." He took a breath, exhaling heavily after a second. "Hell, if she does . . . then I won't."

"I . . . I really didn't think anyone was gonna find me." Sophia sniffed, rubbing her fingers over her nose. "I thought you were all gone."

"Think we'd just leave ya' behind?" Daryl's eyes widened when he looked at her.

Sophia nodded. "I mean . . . you couldn't wait forever," she said, quietly. "It'd be too dangerous." A chill ran up and down her spine, her eyes were burning now, and a tear leaked out. "I thought I was gonna die."

"Well, you didn't. You're fine. Everything's okay now."

Sophia scrubbed her face, hard, trying to rid herself of the tears; they came anyway, trickling down her cheeks, and her breaths grew shorter, coming out as little gasps. Daryl's deep voice rumbled softly: "You gonna cry again?"

"N-No."

Daryl sighed, hesitating for a long moment before wrapping his arm around Sophia's shaking shoulders and pulling her tight. "No need for that," he said, "you're gonna really like where we're stayin' now . . . ain't on the highway. We found a farm. Got horses 'n chickens, your mama even fixed up the RV. She said . . . " he coughed, turning his head away. "Said she wanted it to look nice for ya'."

"I really miss her." Sophia nuzzled against Daryl's side, enjoying the heat radiating from his body.

"She's missed you, too."

They fell silent after that, walking side-by-side only to the sounds of the forest around them; Sophia kept focused on straight ahead, every now and then glancing at Daryl, who was intent on keeping his eyes peeled for any dangers lurking nearby. He was getting worse, Sophia realized fearfully, his face having gone from a deep red to sheet white; sweat beads had formed on his upper lip and his forehead, and his breathing was painful to her ears. Still, he kept on, trying to hide it from her whenever he would stumble (cursing an imaginary rock that "tripped him") or cough ("Something in my throat" he claimed).

By the time the sun finally fell from the sky, Daryl was panting heavily, and stopped to brace himself on a tree. Sophia stood still, watching him as he struggled to catch his breath in between coughs, his hand pressing to his chest while he bent over, resting his forehead on the bark. Sophia took the canteen from his belt, removing the lid before offering it to him. "Drink," she urged.

His eyes met hers as he took the canteen, he tried to mutter out a "thank you" before taking a long drink; he choked, tried to force the liquid down his throat anyway, then collapsed back in half as another coughing fit won him over. It went on for another couple minutes, until finally, he was still, his eyes closed, focusing on breathing in and out. "Not far . . . now," he gasped, "maybe a mile." He stifled a cough, straightened his back; he swayed dangerously and Sophia grasped his arm, trying to steady him.

"We're almost there," she encouraged, tugging just a little. "C'mon."

Daryl's jaw clenched, but he pushed himself away from the tree and took a step, his legs shaking but supporting him. Sophia smiled up at him, tears shining in her eyes, hoping that she could give him the hope he'd given her; truth be told, she didn't really know how long a mile was, but she had to believe it was close. She kept her hand on Daryl's arm as they walked, moving slower than before, until finally the treeline broke and she could see the wide field stretching out in front of them. It was fully dark, and hard to see, but it looked like a big white house stood strong in the distance, and there was lights beaming in the windows.

"Is that it?" she asked, excitedly, forgetting for a moment how ill he was and shaking his arm.

Daryl groaned, then cut himself off to reply: "That's it, girl." They staggered out of the woods, Sophia's face lighting up with a broad grin as the view of the farm became clearer; but they only took a few more steps before Daryl moaned and sank to his knees.

"Daryl!" Sophia cried, almost toppling to the ground with him.

His eyes were squeezed shut as he breathed harshly through his mouth, a strange rattling noise coming from lungs; a cough had him bending forward, his hands hitting the dirt before the rest of his body fell down as well. Sophia placed her hands on his cheeks, wincing, the heat from his skin almost burning to the touch. "Daryl!" she pleaded.

Daryl's bleary eyes cracked open, he tried to speak, but only a small sound came out; he braced his hands on the ground, tried to push himself up. His arms shook with the effort, then betrayed him and he was on the ground again. "Just go," he whispered, eyes drifting shut.

"No!" Sophia pulled on him, her skinny arms straining with his weight. "It's right over there, you can make it!"

Daryl tried to breathe, but coughed instead, the fit taking control of him; he rolled onto his side, spitting into the grass, his body trembling. "Just . . . tell 'em I'm here," he said, his voice so quiet Sophia had to lean in just to hear him. "I'll be fine for . . . a minute."

Sophia looked up at the woods again, then around the field. It was too dark to see anything. "What if a Walker comes?" She shook her head vehemently. "You can't fight one off by yourself! You have to get up . . . " looking back down at Daryl, she stopped mid-sentence. "Daryl?" She nudged his shoulder, trying to rouse him. "Daryl, wake up!" She shook him harder, sick to her stomach at the way his head lolled to the side and his eyes remained closed. Bracing herself, she bent over his chest, listening until she finally heard his ragged breaths and saw his chest moving up and down unsteadily. "Please . . . " she whimpered, "get up."

xxx

Carol slipped on a sweater before leaving the RV, the aroma of freshly cooked vegetables drifting over to her and awakening her tastebuds; sure enough, Lori was walking out of the house with a steaming plate in front of her, and headed straight for Carol. Rick's wife offered a hesitant smile as she handed over the plate: "Patricia still had some vegetables left over from their harvest this year. We did what we could. Nothin' fancy."

"Thank you," Carol murmured, "it smells delicious." She took the plate gratefully, then followed Lori back to the campfire that was being set up by Glenn and T-Dog; she sat down in a lawnchair and had just taken her first bite, when suddenly her attention snapped to the trees behind them. She didn't know why, but something had made her look, so she strained harder, trying to see.

"Carol . . . " Andrea said, carefully. "What is it?"

"I-I don't know," Carol answered, honestly, "just had a strange feeling." It was so dark, there was no light out in the field; the moon cast an eerie glow though, and she could swear there was someone out there. "Who's on watch?" she asked, abruptly.

"Shane." Andrea looked up at the RV. "Hey! You see anything out there?" she called.

Shane leaned forward in his seat, picking up the binoculars he'd set down only a few minutes ago; he looked for a few seconds, before lowering them. "Maybe," he said, "hard to tell. It's too dark."

"Walkers?" Lori's alarmed voice spoke.

Shane looked again, this time standing up. "I don't think so . . . " his voice trailed off, then suddenly got louder: "Looks like somebody running!"

The food was forgotten in the frenzy to gather weapons, all except Carol, who rushed as far away camp as she dared; it was the same feeling she had yesterday, before Andrea shot Daryl, and she'd be damned if the same mistake was going to happen again. "Daryl?" she shot the question to Shane.

"Naw, too small."

For a second, Carol's spirits soared with hope, before she quelled them; Sophia was gone for four days, her heart couldn't take another disappointment. Then, a tiny voice, screaming as loud as it could . . .

"Mama!"

"Oh my god!" Carol choked, her hands flying up to her mouth. She watched in disbelief as the slight figure came closer, until finally the light hit her and it became clear; Sophia saw her mom before anyone else, and burst into tears, quickening her pace. Their bodies collided, Sophia burying her face in her mother's chest and sobbing, while Carol remained frozen, in shock.

"S-Sophia . . . " she cried, her hands pressing into the girl's back, gripping her tattered shirt. "Oh my god, baby. It's you!"

Shouts began echoing around the camp, Lori calling to Carl: "Carl, Sophia's back!" and Herschel's family voicing their confusion as they came out of the house; Carol squeezed Sophia tighter, her body wracked with sobs. She wanted to talk to her child, to comfort her, but the only sounds that came out were unrecognizable even to her own mind.

Then, Sophia found her voice: "Mama, we gotta help him!" She struggled out of Carol's arms.

"What? Who?"

"Daryl!"

"Daryl . . . " Carol's eyes widened. "Where is he, honey?" she asked, even as Sophia took her hand and pulled her toward the field. They began running, Carol dimly aware of Shane's voice shouting at them, and Rick following; the three of them raced across the grass as quickly as their legs would allow, and it didn't take long before Daryl's prone form became visible.

"Oh, God," Carol gasped, her hand around Sophia's tightening. "Rick, is he . . . ?" The Sheriff's Deputy was already hurrying by, kneeling at Daryl's side and pressing his fingers to the redneck's wrist. "He's alive," he said, breathlessly. "Barely." He muttered to himself as he adjusted Daryl, then swung him onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry. "Hurry on ahead," he said, harshly, "tell Herschel we need his help."

By the time Rick staggered into camp, Patricia had the bed ready and he lay Daryl down in the same bedroom Carl had been staying in; Carol rushed to Daryl's side, her hands flitting around nervously. Now that she could see him in the light, her worry was intensified; she'd never seen anyone so pale, and every breath seemed like it took far too long to come. When it did, it took a huge effort.

"Take off his shirt," Herschel instructed, as he readied his stethoscope.

Carol and Rick worked quickly to remove the sweaty shirt, Daryl rolling under the hands easily, completely limp; Herschel listened to his chest for only a second before muttering something about "fluid in the lungs" and "pneumonia". Carol backed away from the bed, shaking, and clutched Sophia to her chest; they were both crying, a bizarre mix of joy and sorrow.

"I may still be able to save him," Herschel said, glancing up at them. "With enough antibiotics . . . " Daryl's gasping brought his attention back down. "Daryl? Can you hear me?" Daryl struggled in his unconscious state, every breath creating a tremor through his body. "He's going into respiratory arrest," Herschel stated, gravely. "His body isn't getting enough oxygen."

"What can we do?" Rick demanded.

Herschel placed his hand on Daryl's forehead, held it still for a moment as Daryl thrashed, his body searching for air; the sick man coughed feebly, hardly a sound coming from his mouth. His lips were gradually turning blue. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, his struggling stopped, his body suddenly going unnaturally still . . .

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I hope none of you are doctors, because my medical knowledge is slim to none. I did what I could! :) Only one more chapter after this, thank you so much for reading!**

xxx

"No . . . "

Sophia's mumbled cry broke the silence as she rushed to the bed, grasping Daryl's limp hand and holding it to her cheek. "You have to do _something,"_ she pleaded, looking to Herschel, her eyes teary and desperate. "Please!" She looked back down, her hands clenched tighter around Daryl, her thumb rubbing circles against the back of his hand. "He saved me."

Rick climbed into the bed next to Daryl, placed his hand on the man's chest . . . "He's barely breathing," he said.

Carol grabbed Herschel's arm, her hands shaking as she spoke: "Help him. Please. Do whatever you can."

Herschel sighed, his eyes darting from Rick to Sophia, then back to Carol. "We still have the oxygen tank from Carl's surgery . . . " he thought aloud, "but more than that I need to open his lungway. Drain the fluid."

"How?" Carol demanded.

"I need a tube," Herschel replied, "flexible but strong. Anything you can find."

Carol nodded and took off, already calling out for Dale, praying he had something hidden in that RV that could help; somehow she wasn't surprised when he dug through one of the closets and produced a long plastic tube. Looked like something you might by in the crafts section of WalMart. "Just leftover crap," he said, shrugging, "I can be a bit of a packrat."

"Your bad habit may have just saved Daryl's life." Carol smiled bravely, snatching the tube and racing back outside; she ran right into Shane as she entered the bedroom, muttered a quick apology, and took her place at Daryl's side again. His coloring was even worse than before, chest just barely rising with every agonizing breath.

Glenn swung into the doorway, face red. "Patricia's on her way," he said, between his panting.

"Good." Herschel's voice was clipped, tight; he glanced at his watch, his mouth set in a thin line. "We don't have much time."

"Glenn," Carol said, "would you, please, take Sophia? She shouldn't be in here . . . " she ached to keep her daughter in front of her, but caring for Daryl had to come first, at least for the time being. Glenn put his arm around Sophia's frail shoulders, saying something about "getting something to eat" as he walked her out of the room.

Then Patricia arrived.

"Okay," Herschel said, "here's what I need you to do . . . "

xxx

Carol never wanted to be a doctor. Some children dreamed of that in 3rd grade, it was their aspiration when the teacher asked; an astronaut, a ballerina, a soldier. A doctor. But not Carol. All she ever wanted was to be a wife and mother, whether that was because she was raised to believe that's all she ever could be or not, she didn't know . . . but she _did _know, she never wanted to be in an operating room again.

The procedure didn't really take that long, she guessed, but it felt like that. The sounds around her were muted, Rick announcing that Daryl had stopped breathing, Herschel giving Patricia instructions. They got the oxygen hooked up. They cut into Daryl's side and inserted the tube, drained out the clear liquid into a pan, making Carol turn away and gag before Herschel told her he needed her to keep wiping at the incision. She did, her hands trembling violently as she tried to get rid of the blood, mostly just smearing it over his pale skin.

For one horrible moment, after they had finished, she thought it was all in vain. They removed the oxygen and Daryl's chest deflated, but didn't rise again; he was motionless, mouth hanging slightly open, eyes remaining stubbornly closed. Until finally, he took in a painful breath . . . and they all exhaled the breaths they hadn't realized they were holding.

That was hours ago. Now Carol sat in the wooden rocking chair by his bed, his hand clasped between hers, still too warm with the fever that he was still trying to battle; as she watched, he flinched, his head moving to one side of the pillow and face contorting with pain.

"Mama?"

Sophia was in the doorway, her hair still wet from the bath Carol had given her earlier; she wore a long nightgown, one of Maggie's old ones, and looked just like an angel, in Carol's eyes. "What're you doin' up, honey?" she asked, softly, "put you to bed an hour ago."

"I couldn't sleep."

No shock there, Carol thought grimly, trying to imagine the horrors her baby girl had lived through in just a few days. "Wanna sit in here for a bit?" she offered.

Sophia tiptoed in, her barefeet soft on the hardwood floor; she looked at Daryl nervously, hands fiddling at her stomach. "Is he gonna be okay?" she asked, her voice unsteady, eyes watering.

Carol hesitated. "We don't know," she answered, "but he's doing better . . . he can breathe easier now. And he's a strong man." She tried to smile. "I think he'll get better."

Sophia stopped at the foot of Daryl's bed, then climbed up and crawled ovebr so she was at his side, stretching out next to him, keeping her eyes locked on his face. Her hand crept over the sheet and fell on his chest, stroking it gently even as her eyes began to close, sleep finally about to claim its victory. Carol squeezed Daryl's hand tighter, fighting back tears as she watched her daughter offer what comfort she could. Ed had never shown Sophia an ounce of kindness in his entire life, but somehow she had made it through in spite of that, and now . . .

"I'm so proud of you," Carol choked out.

Sophia smiled sleepily, her head resting on Daryl's good shoulder. "I love you, Mama," she whispered; then turned her eyes to Daryl's sleeping face. She didn't say it, but she didn't have to, the love and adoration shone through her eyes with more intensity than any words could express.

They fell asleep that way, Carol slumped in the rocking chair, her hand firmly wrapped around Daryl's; Sophia curled up on her side next to her hero, the sound of his heartbeat her lullaby. In the middle of the night, when Daryl's eyes cracked open briefly, he found them in those positions . . . he fell back to sleep with a subtle smile on his face.

xxx

Daryl awoke to the sound of a loud groan, and judging by the frantic expression on Carol's face as she hovered over him, the awful sound came from _him. _He blinked up at her, trying to control the shivers that were going through his body, and the tiny whimper that was desperate to come from his lips. How was it possible to be so hot and so cold at the same time?

Carol's hand pressed to his forehead, and he instinctively jerked away; she shot him an apologetic look, before speaking in a voice he could just barely hear over the roaring in his ears: "Sophia, go get Herschel."

_Sophia. _Daryl felt movement at his side, the bed bounced and he bit back a cry as all the injuries he'd sustained in the past few days took the opportunity to make their presence known; he twisted his head to look, and sure enough, there was Sophia crawling off the bed and hurrying away. He wanted to tell her to stay, wanted to make _sure, _but all he managed was a pitiful croak.

"Here," Carol said, gently, "try some water." She lifted his head a bit, poured some of the glass of lukewarm water in his mouth, stopping when he gagged and tried to pull away. Her forehead wrinkled, her eyes narrowing. "How are you feeling?"

_Really, woman? _If that wasn't the dumbest question he'd ever heard . . . Daryl thought he was rolling his eyes, but Carol didn't seem to notice. Then Herschel was there, and there were more hands touching him, ignoring his not-so-polite requests to knock it off; he grunted and groaned under their merciless touches, until finally they stopped and he was able to breathe again. He panted, shooting icy glares in their direction that would normally send people running away in fear . . .

Guess that fear would be silly now, considering he was half-naked in a bed, drenched in sweat with no weapon in sight.

"The fever broke," Herschel announced, "those antibiotics we pumped into him all night must be working." He looked down at Daryl, and was that _admiration _in the old man's face? "You're one tough son of a gun."

Daryl closed his eyes, took a breath that he had to release before he could fill his lungs. "Wha' the fuck happened?" he muttered.

Carol blushed, and Sophia giggled. Daryl turned in the direction of her voice, his blurry vision focusing on the nightgown-clad girl who stood by his bedpost; memories were coming to him now, finding Sophia, the Walkers he'd fought off, collapsing just before reaching the farm. Sophia's tears. "You okay?" he managed, voice still cracking.

"I'm not the sick one, silly." Sophia grinned at him.

Daryl smirked back. " . . . been called a lot of things," he said, fighting the need to go back to sleep. How long was he out anyway? And why was his side burning something fierce? He tried to press his hand against it, but was stopped by Carol's hands.

"Herschel had to do a operation," she explained, "you couldn't breathe on your own." To his horror, the woman looked to be on the verge of bursting into tears. "We thought we'd lost you."

Daryl squinted at her, confusion clouding his mind. _The hell is she cryin' for . . . and why is Sophia snifflin' all over the place? She's back with her Mama now, she should be happy. _He studied the faces around him, those pinched expressions, some teary eyes, Herschel's grim frown . . . "What're y'all starin' at?" he mumbled.

Rick smiled slightly. "Just glad to see you doin' better," he replied, "we'll leave you alone now."

"Get some rest," Herschel advised, "you're not out of the woods yet." Daryl shrank away as the old man reached down to pat his shoulder lightly, then he and Rick left the room again; Carol rose as well, turning her back and fiddling with something on the nightstand. Sophia resumed her position on the bed next to him, boldly interlocking her fingers with his as she lay on her side, facing him.

"Sophia," Carol said, when she turned around again, her voice sounding distant to Daryl's ears. "Go get dressed now, ask Lori to fix you somethin' to eat. I'm gonna stay with Daryl just a little longer but I'll be out soon."

Sophia made some kind of disappointed noise, but obeyed her mama, and then it was just the two of them. Carol hummed softly as she pulled her chair closer, pressing a damp cloth to his forehead; he flinched away, but forced himself to relax under her touch, as she ran the cool washcloth along his face and down his neck. She stopped where the sheet rested across his chest, her eyes searching for and finding his gaze, waiting for permission. Everything in him wanted to pull the sheets even higher and turn away from her, but goddamn, it did feel so good . . .

"It's okay, Daryl," Carol murmured, "you don't have to hide." Tentatively, she gripped the edge of the sheet and pulled it down, revealing the battered and scarred chest beneath; Daryl winced at his own body, the burns that had long ago healed, whip scars left over from another life. Carol didn't seem to notice, keeping her expression neutral as she continued to bathe him; Daryl wanted to stay awake, hated to think of sleeping while someone was next to him, watching him. He would be vulnerable . . . _it's just Carol, for Christ's sake, Dixon. _

She hit a tender spot and he whimpered quietly, causing her to stop. "I'm sorry," she said, "are you okay?"

"Yeah," he gasped, longing to grab his throbbing side, try to ease some of the pain. "Herschel really . . . did a number on me, huh?"

"You must be in so much pain." Carol frowned, studying his side thoughtfully.

He wanted to deny that, he really did. But there wasn't much point. Daryl just grunted confirmation and Carol shot him another one of those sympathetic, concerned looks as she asked: "Merle had painkillers, didn't he? Are there any left . . . "

"Think they used . . . 'em all on Carl," Daryl forced out, through gritted teeth. "And T-Dog." He shook his head, regretted it when the room spun wildly, and closed his eyes as his stomach tossed dangerously. "I'm fine."

"You're still too warm," Carol said, disapprovingly, "not burnin' up like before but . . . " she dipped the cloth back into the basin on the nightstand, wringing it out before returning it to his skin. "Sophia told me about bein' out there. With you."

Daryl watched her through heavy-lidded eyes, but gave no response.

"She said you saved her . . . there was a Walker chasin' her." Carol's voice was controlled, as if she was holding back tears. "But she wasn't scared once you were there . . . she knew you'd protect her."Carol put the cloth to his forehead again, let it sit there momentarily. "You saved my lil' girl, Daryl."

"Told ya' I would," Daryl said, so soft Carol almost didn't hear him.

"We can't ever thank you enough. Me or Sophia." Carol removed the cloth, then startled him by standing and bending over him, placing a soft kiss on his forehead; her lips were dry and cracked, but as good as any he'd ever felt. He gave in and let sleep claim him, closing his eyes, drifting off with Carol's lips still on his skin and the words she spoke just before he was gone, echoing in his mind:

"Thank you, Daryl."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you all so much for reading, and especially for reviewing! I really hope you like the end of this story, I definitely hope to write more TWD fics in the future, with Daryl front and center, and I hope you'll check them out when I do :)**

xxx

Carol opened her eyes slowly, afraid to that she would wake and discover that it was all just a dream, that Sophia was still gone; but then, she felt the warm skin beneath her arms, felt Sophia's back pressed up against her as they lay together, curled up on the bed. It was real. Her daughter was safe, in her arms, where she belonged. Carol breathed a soft prayer, so relieved she was almost dizzy, and squeezed Sophia tighter.

" . . . Mama?" the girl murmured, eyelids blinking sluggishly.

"Shh, it's all right," Carol whispered in her ear, "go back to sleep." She sat up slightly, propping herself up on her elbow so she could gaze down at her girl; she brushed away strands of hair that had fallen onto Sophia's face. "It's still early."

Sophia smiled, sleepily. "I thought I was dreaming."

Carol returned her smile with a wobbly one of her own. "I did, too," she said, "but we weren't. I've got you now." She bent down and kissed Sophia's forehead. "I'm gonna go check on Daryl. I'll make you some food when you get up, okay?"

Sophia nodded, her eyes already drifting shut again. "Tell him I said I hope . . . he feels better," she finished with a yawn, and in no time her breaths were deep and slow, her eyes remaining closed. Carol took a moment just to watch her, irrationally afraid that if she glanced away for just a second, Sophia would disappear again, and never come back.

_Foolish thought, _she chided herself, moving slowly as she got off the bed. Her head hurt a little, but she felt more refreshed than she had in a week; she'd barely slept the whole time Sophia was gone. She rubbed her eyes, walking into the hallway, shuffling her feet slightly as she made her way into the room where Daryl was staying; two days had passed since he'd brought Sophia home and then gave Carol one of the worst scares of her life. The man wasn't good for her heart, she decided, in _any _way.

She hesitated outside the door, then knocked timidly; there was no answer, and Carol pushed open the door and stepped into the room, taking in his haggard appearance; he looked better than a couple days ago, but still too pale, his breaths were still labored, and dark shadows stood out in stark contrast to his white face. He was asleep, but not peacefully so. His mouth was set in a grim line, eyes shut tightly, his fists were clenching the blanket that lay across his hips. Soft grunts and moans escaped his lips, and his head twisted on the pillow, back and forth, struggling against some unseen force.

"Daryl," Carol called to him, keeping her voice gentle. "Daryl, wake up." Her heart leapt into her throat when she caught his voice, painfully gasping Sophia's name. "You're dreamin'," she told him, "'it's okay." Unable to stand it any longer, she put her hand on his shoulder and shook it slightly.

Daryl jerked awake with a barely-stifled cry, his eyes wild for a moment before they adjusted and he recognized his surroundings; he sagged back onto the bed, a line of sweat running from his temple down the side of his face.

"Are you okay?" Carol asked.

Daryl brought his hand up to wipe at his face, and Carol noted his slight trembling. "Just a stupid dream," he muttered, then froze, his hand still on his forehead. "Sophia . . . is she?"

"She's fine," Carol replied, hastily, "it was just a dream. She's sleepin' just down the hall." Then his lips curved into the smallest of smirks, and Carol found herself beaming back at him. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Better."

Without thinking, Carol pressed her hand to his forehead, regretting it as soon as their skin touched, for Daryl jerked away as if she'd burned him; she pulled her hand back quickly, face now flushing fully red. "Oh, I'm sorry," she stammered, "I wasn't thinking . . . "

Daryl cursed softly, and Carol suspected she wasn't supposed to hear. " . . . 's alright," Daryl said, "I just, um . . . "

"I understand." Carol thought of Daryl's chest, riddled with scars, and understood all too well. Before she could say anything else, there was a knock on the door, and then Herschel was coming in; he glanced at Carol, seemingly unsurprised to see her, before speaking to Daryl:

"I have to check the incision. Make sure there's no infection."

Daryl looked like he wanted to protest, but he just rolled onto his side, bringing one arm up to cradle his head; Carol watched as Herschel inspected, finding herself drawn to the lines of his bare back. Broad, strong shoulders that led down to a lean waist and hips . . . her face flushed a deep red, burning hot as it dawned on her that she was quite literally ogling Daryl right in front of Herschel.

He either didn't notice, or was good at pretending not to. But he was frowning. "So difficult keeping anything clean under these conditions," he sighed.

"It's not infected, is it?" Carol asked, worry spiking in her gut.

Daryl rolled onto his back again as Herschel spoke: "Seems to be . . . just a bit. Hopefully the antibiotics will keep it down, but we don't have many left." He pinched the bridge of his nose, every line in his face radiating exhaustion. "I'll get some alcohol, try to clean it as best I can."

Carol's touch on Herschel's arm stopped him. "I'll do it," she offered, then looked down at Daryl, who was watching them both with a wary expression in his glazed, blue eyes. "If that's okay?" she amended.

Daryl licked his dry lips, bringing his hand to his side and rubbing it tenderly, grimacing. "Do what ya' have to," he replied. And with that, Herschel left to gather the needed supplies, and Carol settled herself down in the chair next to the bed; she folded her hands in her lap, staring at them awkwardly.

"Think you can manage some food?" she questioned.

Daryl scowled. "Not hungry," he said, a bold-faced lie.

_No use arguing, _Carol thought to herself. "Maybe later," she settled for, "you really should try to eat, gotta keep your strength up." _More like get it back. _They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Herschel reappeared with some gauze and alcohol, tape for Carol to redress Daryl's back. He gave her some brief instructions, then left them alone again, and Carol went about unwrapping the bandage. The blood hadn't soaked through all the way, but the inside of the gauze was red, and the material was sweaty; she swallowed hard, her stomach flipping, and rolled the bandage into a ball before tossing it in the trash.

Daryl hissed in pain when she brought an alcohol soaked cloth to the wound, but stayed remarkably still as she went on cleaning it; the skin around the incision was puffy and red, angry and so very painful looking. Daryl watched Carol as she worked, but then suddenly bit his lip and turned away, nearly burying his face in the pillow, his entire body tensing.

"I'm sorry!" Carol said.

"It's fine," Daryl breathed, still avoiding her gaze. At his side, his fingers rotated between gripping the blanket and drumming the mattress; his body was shaking, from a chill or the pain, but he fought to hold steady.

Carol poured more alcohol onto the cloth and wiped at Daryl's skin as gently as she could, flinching when Daryl jumped at her touch; she worked as quickly as she could, but by the time she was done they were both exhausted. Daryl's skin glowed with a sheen of fresh sweat, and Carol's hands were shaking as she tossed the cloth into the basin on the nightstand.

"Maybe Glenn can make another trip into town," she thought aloud, screwing the cap back onto the bottle of alcohol. "Pick up some painkillers. Even some Aspirin would be better than nothing."

"Not worth the trip . . . " Daryl eased himself onto his back, eyes closing. "He said they ran into Walkers last time."

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"Just leave it be," Daryl muttered.

"Daryl . . . "

"Would you just stop?" his voice was stronger, and it snapped at her like a whip. He glared at her, and she had to fight the urge to shrink away from him, the raw emotion reflected in his face. "Just stop," he repeated, softer this time.

"What are you talkin' about?" Carol fidgeted nervously, then reached out and put her hand over his. "I'm worried about you."

He pulled away from her, letting his hand fall onto his stomach. "No," he said, "you're just tryin' to pay me back . . . you don't owe me nothin' for Sophia. I didn't look for her 'cuz of you." He struggled to sit up, growing more agitated by the second. "You got her back now, you should be with her!"

"This is the least I can do . . . " Carol began.

"You don't need to do _anything _for me," Daryl cut her off.

"Well, I want to!" Carol snapped back, effectively silencing him. "I'm not doin' this because of some _debt_, that debt can't ever be repaid, no matter what I do. So all I can say is thank you. I'm here because I . . . " she gestured helplessly, at Daryl, at the room around them. "I care about you, Daryl. Can't you see that?"

He narrowed his eyes, squinting at her, as if confused.

"I care about you," Carol said again, "and not just because you saved Sophia. Even if . . . " the thought was almost to painful to say aloud. "If she'd never come back, I'd still be here with you." She tried to smile. "Whether you want me here or not." Tears were in her eyes, she noticed, and furiously wiped them away.

"Hell . . . " Daryl whispered.

Carol sniffed, holding back her tears; she reached out and lay her hand on Daryl's cheek, expecting him to flinch away like always, but this time he stayed still. His eyes met hers for a long gaze that neither of them understood, all Carol knew was that suddenly the air was very thick and hard to breathe. The hand on Daryl's cheek slipped down to brace herself on the bed as she got closer, nervously placing her cool lips on his warm forehead; she smiled against his skin as his mumbled "What're ya' doin'?" and held her lips to him for just a second longer before pulling away. She had to hold back a laugh at his bewildered expression.

"Lie back down," she said, "you shouldn't even be thinkin' about getting out of bed yet."

Daryl sighed but relented, lowering himself onto the bed, keeping his eyes trained on her as if she were a rabid animal; Carol tugged on the blanket, pulling it up higher so it lay across his chest, smoothing out the edges, letting her hand linger over his. He was already falling asleep, pain and fever sapping him of his energy; it wasn't as bad, but heat still rose from his flushed skin, and Carol frowned.

"You can't scare me away, y'know," she spoke, barely finding her voice. "I know what kind of man you are, you're nothin' like Ed . . . you'd never hurt me." She paused. "Now if I could just convince you that I'm same way . . . " he made a soft noise in his sleep, maybe it was supposed to be a reply, but didn't open his eyes. Carol smiled at his sleeping figure, brushing his hair away from his face. "I'm not leavin'," she promised, not knowing if he could hear her or not.

xxx

Daryl's fingers were too big and clumsy as he tried to button his shirt, and after only a few seconds he was growing incredibly frustrated with the whole ordeal; how could he still be weak as a kitten after laying on his back for damn near a whole week? He growled, swearing quietly, letting his hands fall to his sides and glaring down at the offending buttons; seemed like they were glaring right back at him, taunting him.

"Daryl?"

He looked up, and didn't even try to hide the smile that flickered across his face when he saw Sophia in the doorway; she'd put on a little weight already, and it looked good, she didn't look like she was starving anymore. Her freckles had darkened and were pronounced across her nose and cheeks, crooked teeth smiled back at him as she asked: "Are you comin' for breakfast?"

"Was thinkin' about it," Daryl admitted, remaining seated on th bed while Sophia came into the room.

She eyed his shirt with a bemused expression. "Want me to help?" she asked, "when I was sick, my mama had to help me with the weirdest stuff . . . even tying my shoes."

Daryl glanced down at his muddy boots. "I got that part, at least."

Sophia giggled, one of the sweetest sound Daryl had ever heard, and went about buttoning his shirt with her nimble fingers. "There," she said, "all done . . . there's toast this morning! You want butter or jam? I think Lori said it's strawberry."

The abrupt change of subject took a moment for Daryl's still-fuzzy mind to process. "Either one sounds good," he answered, evasively. He stood up, testing his legs, before going with the Sophia; they walked into the hall, down the short passageway, and into the kitchen. It was crowded in there, seemed like everyone in the camp was starved, and Daryl fought down the urge to bolt when all eyes focused on him.

"Well, you look better!" Dale declared, grinning like a fool.

Daryl stopped just short of the table, eyeing them all as if for the first time; their relieved expressions were confusing, so sincere, like none of them had gotten any rest since he got back. Then Glenn appeared at his side, holding a steamy cup and smiling ear-to-ear: "Coffee? It's actually pretty good."

" . . . thanks," Daryl said, taking the cup and sipping at it slowly, savoring the strong, hot liquid as it ran down his throat. When he lowered the cup, he caught Carol's eye, and realized she was standing aross the table from him; she smiled, warm and inviting, and Daryl returned it with the slightest of smiles himself. "So, uh, Sophia said we got toast this mornin'?" he spoke, his eyes never leaving Carol.

"And strawberry jam!" Carl announced.

A chair was pulled out and a plate thrust in front of Daryl, and before he knew it, he was shoveling the food into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in a week . . . which was mostly true. One by one the group began to disperse, Dale muttering something about the RV needing a tune-up, enlisting Dale for help; Rick and Lori walked off together, Carl and Sophia skipped away yelling about "tag", and soon it was just Carol and Daryl.

Daryl took another bite, chewed thoughtfully. "So listen . . . " he said, after a moment. "I, um, wanted to tell ya' somethin'."

Carol rested her hands atop the table. "What is it?"

He blew out a breath, suddenly feeling ridiculously uncomfortable. "Just, thanks," he finally spit out. "Y'know, for this week . . . can't be easy tryin' to play nurse to a stubborn ass like me."

Carol laughed lightly, the same kind of laugh Sophia had. "No, it isn't," she acknowledged, "but it's worth it. I'm so glad you're okay." She stood, began to fuss about, clearing any remaining dishes; she walked around the table and took Daryl's from in front of him, but his hand shot out and grasped her arm when she went to walk away. She stared down at his grip, then brought her eyes to his, her voice unsteady when she spoke: "What're you doin'?"

Daryl pushed away from the table, rising from his seat and freezing in front of her, just inches away; his hand loosened but didn't let go, and his thumb began to circle her wrist, nervously. She smelled fresh, like grass and flowers, and it was damn near intoxicating. He let his otherh and have a mind of its own, and found it running up her arm 'til it rested on her cheek; she gasped, and that was enough of that, so he dipped his head and kissed her. Her skin was smooth beneath his chin, unshaven for too long, her lips were willing and ready for him; she leaned into him, inviting, and his arms snaked around her waist to pull her even closer as he deepened the kiss. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless.

Daryl cleared his throat, feeling more awkward than he had in a long time. "I . . . um, care about you, too," he managed, his face burning hot.

Carol's eyes were shining, but her lips were smiling. "Come on," she said, reaching down to take his hand. "Help me clean up?"

Daryl squeezed her hand, not even glancing at the dirty dishes around them. "Might take a lot of work," he said, quietly. "Hope you're a patient woman."

"Daryl . . . " Carol kissed his cheek, then whispered in his ear: "I've got all the time in the world, and I'm a _very _patient woman."

And then he kissed her again.


End file.
